


Wait, What?

by carrieonfighting



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Fluff, M/M, Shane is oblivious, hand-holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 17:25:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13979947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrieonfighting/pseuds/carrieonfighting
Summary: Ryan keeps trying to hold hands with Shane.





	Wait, What?

**Author's Note:**

> A [tumblr](https://thatmademadej.tumblr.com) prompt: "Ryan keeps finding increasingly convoluted reasons to hold Shane's hand", posted here by anonymous request xx

Okay, so, the hand-holding had been a thing for a while. They didn’t talk about it, but every so often, after a scare, Ryan would end up grabbing Shane by the arm, or the shoulder, or even the hand. If the scare was particularly ferocious, he would grab his hand and keep it. It was only ever on location though. And they didn’t talk about it. 

Then, one day, Shane had joined Ryan by the big window in the Buzzfeed offices - the one with the decent views of LA. Ryan had his nose pressed right up against it, staring at something in the skyline. 

“Has the alien invasion finally arrived?” Shane asked, poking him in the back of the shoulder to signal his arrival. Ryan jumped, and scowled at him.

“Ow, dude. No, look, there’s this huge-ass bird on that rooftop. Look.”

Ryan pointed. Shane looked. He did not see the bird. 

“I can’t see the bird,” He said. 

“Over there, dumbass,” Ryan pointed more insistently.

“Are you imagining birds as well now-”

“No, Shane, over _there_.” Ryan grabbed his hand and pointed with it towards a nearby building. Shane saw the bird. 

“Oh, that. Oh, shit, that _is_ a huge bird. Is it a pigeon?!”

“I told you,” Ryan said. He didn’t let go of Shane’s hand, not until Shane glanced down awkwardly at where Ryan was still pressing it against the glass, and then Ryan dropped it awkwardly.

—

Another scare, in an abandoned mansion in the backwaters of Michigan, all wrought-iron bannisters and dust. It was getting towards the end of spring, but Ryan was still bundled in enough layers to prevent him quite bending his elbows. When the house creaked violently, he immediately grabbed for Shane’s hand, gloved fingers entwining with his own. 

—

A variety of small incidences, then; weaving through a crowded bar, dragging Shane into a tapas restaurant and then hauling him away from the tiny fancy hotdogs. He didn’t mind. Guys could hold hands sometimes, it was fine. 

—

“Look dude, I’m telling you, you can feel the vibrations through your hands.”

“Yeah, but how does that translate to _hearing it in your brain?_ I call bullshit.”

“That guy - Mozzarella?”

“Mozart, you philistine-”

“He was deaf, and he could compose.”

“Yeah but he, like, went deaf. He still knew what music sounded like.”

Ryan huffed, frustrated, and went and fiddled with the frat-boy sized stereo in the corner of his front room. When something Shane vaguely identified as hip-hop blared through the speaker, obscenely bass-boosted, Ryan grabbed Shane’s hand and slapped it against the speaker.

“I can feel it vibrate, dude, I’m not disputing that, but I can still hear the music in my ears.”

“We need to - find some way to deafen you to prove it properly,” Ryan muttered. 

“You need to cool it with the threats,” Shane said, snatching his hand away. 

—

Michigan was nice, but LA was nicer, and Ryan flourished in the sunshine. Also, flipflops were optimal footwear, in Shane’s humble opinion - peak potential for weird jokes that made Ryan lose it.

“Look dude, I’m just saying, if Mothman were to appear in the street right now your automatic reaction would likely be to walk right past him.”

“How much does Mothman look like a normal dude?” Shane wondered, absent-mindedly taking a bite from his icecream. 

“Didn’t you get the pictures I sent you?” Ryan immediately dug his phone out and started scrolling.

“I ignore everything you email me now; I get the shoot details from TJ.” Shane said.

“What?!” 

“You keep sending me those weird tabloid articles about ghosts, and I couldn’t figure out how to filter them properly.” Shane said. 

“You-” Ryan grabbed his hand and took a big lick of the ice cream. “There, you dick. Revenge.”

“Whatever,” Shane shrugged, and licked the icecream himself, dragging Ryan’s hand breathtakingly close to his chin. “Can’t outgross me, Bergara. ‘Tis a futile attempt.”

“You’re disgusting,” Ryan rolled his eyes, and when Shane rested his hand on the table in front of them Ryan’s hand stayed covering his. 

—

Ryan started grabbing his hand whenever Shane made him laugh, the way he would usually slap the arm of the chair or the table. Just a friend thing, right?

—

“Okay, Madej. This is it. The ultimate test of who’s right about ghosts.” Ryan thumped down into the booth opposite him, eyes slightly hazy. He shoved the empty beer bottles aside and held his hand out, a challenge in his eyes: “We arm-wrestle.”

Shane giggled helplessly, the alcohol in his system making everything vaguely blurry - wait, was he wearing his glasses? He wasn’t wearing his glasses. This could mean he was not as drunk as he thought, or possibly much much drunker. Either way, he planted his elbow on the table opposite Ryan’s and looked him right in the eye.

“You’re on, Bergara. I have the power of science on my side.”

“The power of being obnoxious on your side,” Ryan snorted, grabbing Shane’s hand in his. “Wait, we need an…an impartial observer. Jen, get over here.”

“What the fuck are you guys doing now?” Jen complained, flopping down into the booth next to them. Ryan didn’t break eye contact with Shane.

“Arm wrestle,” He said through gritted teeth. “Winner has to admit they’re wrong about ghosts.”

“Cool,” Jen shrugged. “Uhhh, go, I guess.”

Shane put up a valiant fight. He did. He wasn’t caught unawares by Jen casually telling them to go, and he didn’t squawk when Ryan immediately slammed his hand into the table.

“Wow, you really do have noodle arms,” Ryan said.

“No, that doesn’t count,” Shane insisted, pointing with his free hand. “I wasn’t ready.”

“You have to say I’m right!” Ryan crowed, batting Shane’s accusatory finger away. “Ghosts are real!”

“The match was invalid,” Shane protested, struggling to keep a straight face. 

“Shane Madej says ghosts are real!” Ryan yelled, lifting Shane’s hands in the air. “This fucko made fun of me for believing in ghosts, and now look at him!”

“That’s not fair!” Shane laughed, ineffectually trying to tug his hand out of Ryan’s. People were looking at them. Jen had slipped back into the crowd. “Let go of me, you weirdo.”

“No!” Ryan said. “This is your punishment!”

“It’s hardly a punishment!” Shane said, and Ryan gave him a look. A Look. He was really quite drunk.

“Isn’t it,” He asked, considerably quieter.

“Nah,” Shane said, waving his free hand dismissively. “I like it.”

“Oh,” Ryan stared at his fingers entwined with Shane’s, the arm-wrestle forgotten. “Then I - I guess I’ll keep doing it?”

“Sure,” Shane shrugged, and he left his hand in Ryan’s on the vaguely sticky table top, and he left his hand in Ryan’s later whilst the two of them walked - staggered - back to his apartment. He liked it.


End file.
